To Have The Right
by Aleanbh
Summary: Teresa Lisbon is sure she doesn't have the right to feel this way. She'd love to have the right. Introspective-ish. Jane x Lisbon, team.


**AN:**_ A mish-mash introspection of some of Lisbon's thoughts. Reviews are greatly appreciated!_

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By some strange turn of events, Teresa Lisbon finds herself able to leave her CBI workplace at bang-on five o'clock. There is definitely a spring in her step as she exits her office, and with a glance round at the empty bullpen, it makes her happy to see that her colleagues have accepted her suggestion that they make the most of the respite in their workload and take early leave of the day. While she is lucky to still be passionate about and love working in a field she has been for longer than she cares to admit, there is no denying the joy an unexpected break could bring.

It is turning into a beautiful evening as Teresa drives home. The sky stretches out above the road ahead, pale blue, but streaked with whispers of orange and mauve, and it reminds her of the long evening of freedom she has stretching out before her. The thought makes her smile.

On her arrival home, Teresa abandons her leather bag from work near the front door, hastily kicking it out of sight, from where it can be collected en-route to her car tomorrow morning. After watering the thirsty potted plant which has long-resided on the window-sill, Teresa selects one of her older records, a soulful collection of jazz numbers, and, after putting it on, kicks off her shoes and settles down into her sofa with a novel she'd attempted to start a couple of weeks before.

Two and a half chapters later, Teresa can feel her attention waning. Re-arranging herself on the couch, she peers over at the time display on the television. Just after six o'clock. Her television would be filled with soaps and news that she just couldn't bring herself to face. It was too early for a film, and she couldn't justify making dinner yet, not when she'd had a late lunch and didn't feel hungry in the least. What was wrong with her, Teresa wondered, as she realised she had nothing to do. She should be delighted to have the evening to herself. What had happened her mood between leaving the CBI, and now, barely an hour later, where she could barely repress the notion that she'd rather be in her office. What the hell was wrong with her? She was sure the other members of her team weren't currently having this problem. They had no problem living their lives away from the Serious Crimes Unit. That was probably it, Teresa reasoned. She was just far too invested in her role as Agent and that was the reason she found it so hard to switch off and just exist outside of the workplace. The long evening, which had so recently seemed attractive and a resource of relaxation and possibility now stretched out before her in a way that made her wonder what was the earliest time she could justify giving up on her evening and retreating to her bed.

Giving up wholly on the novel, Teresa half-heartedly discarded it, tossing it gently to the floor. She lay back on her sofa and gazed up at the ceiling. Hell, it seemed to work for Jane. Considering her previous revelation, Teresa once again considered her lifestyle. She thought on her colleagues, and wondered on the possibility that somewhere deep down she might resent them for their seeming ability to exist outside the four walls of the bullpen. They all had their own things going on, personal issues that meant so much to them.

Then again, Teresa thought, teasing the issue out in her mind, she had to consider her position as Boss, and the difference between her and Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt, Jane. At another time, she might blame her obsession with her working life on her authoritarian position as head of the unit, and attempt to segregate herself from the others in her head in that way, but right now she was ready to admit that there wasn't a significant difference between them at all. She had more paperwork, more meetings, more heat from those above her, but nothing major – nothing to justify her using her higher position as a defence for herself and her accustomed behaviours.

Teresa knew she belonged to a tight unit, strong and close, but there was always a part of her mind that wondered if they all meant more to her than she did to them. Of course, there was no denying the fact that she did mean a lot to her colleagues- they had risked their reputations and careers, and what's more, their lives, for her sake on more than one occasion in a way that suggested the various relationships were more than, closer than professional. On a night like this, though, and dwelling on thoughts like these, Teresa was unsure. They all seemed to have so much more in their lives than her. Personal relationships, hobbies, love interests; the seemingly endless list of things that Teresa wished there were more of in her life. Hell, even Jane had the odd romantic venture, and that was truly saying something.

What would it take, Teresa wonders, to be of interest to Jane in that way? Over the years she's known him, not many women have captured his interest, but the ones that have been successful in gaining his attentions have made her realise that their own relationship might not be what it previously may have seemed. Of course, _of course_ there's been rough patches in their relationship, both professionally and personally, but Teresa has always been under the impression that she's, for the want of a better word, _special_ to him. Their relationship, their friendship, has always covered a vast array of areas and emotions, and their banter almost always has a flirtatious edge to it. Their connection and understanding of each other remains so strong, and Jane has proved on so many occasions just how fiercely protective he has become of her, tells her again and again, _without actually telling her_, that she is _important_ to him, that she _matters_, that on the occasions when Jane does show interest in a woman, Teresa has to remind herself not to feel cheated or jilted or even worse, invisible to him, as though he has never even considered her, in spite of the friendship she holds so dear. She has no right to feel that way. And yet, every single time the inevitable happens; with Kristina, Erica, Lorelei; each time Teresa feels an ache in her heart, and each and every time she hates herself for it. Because, despite her dearest, deeply hidden desires, she doesn't have the right. She doesn't have the right. She'd love to have the right.

And why doesn't she have the right? A small voice at the back of her mind asks the question. It is petty to be jealous, and she tries to reason past events out, but to no avail. She puts herself in comparison with the women who have unknowingly caused her such self-doubt and heartache, and this only causes more hurt and confusion. Erica, the cold-blooded killer; Kristina, who Jane had despised; and Lorelei, the one who'd demanded Teresa's own life. What had they ever done for Jane to award them his attention, his affection? Sometimes she feels she could never possibly be enough for Jane, but then she wonders why couldn't she be if _they_ were? Teresa is humble, but she's not a fool. She's a good agent, and even more to the point, she's a damn good person, and a damn good friend. She has been so to him. Angry confusion bubbles up inside of her when she thinks on this for too long. After all she has done for him, all the bridges burned, all the time spent, and he turns around again and again, and makes her feel like nothing.

On the discovery of Lorelei's body; poor, terrible, misguided Lorelei, a victim of her circumstances; Teresa had been shocked at the callous, careless dismissal Jane had given her, as though she were nothing but collateral damage. The demons inside Teresa reared their ugly heads that night, the long, sleepless night that she had spent tossing and turning, plagued by the idea that, in a reversal of roles, and her lifeless body laid out for Jane's viewing, that he might feel similarly about her. "_She had it coming_", Jane had said about Lorelei. Did _she_ have it coming? Would she end up the same as Lorelei, and worse again, would Jane dismiss her death as just another means to an end? These were the thoughts and fears that tortured Teresa's nights.

Teresa has always been humble, and she has never taken anything for granted, so she feels the pain every single time Jane considers her position, her abilities, and herself as a given, and it has happened so many countless times that every time she thinks she is becoming immune to the pain of his carelessness, his latest betrayal shatters that ideal.

And then come the good days, the days Jane is caring, the days he is thoughtful, the days that he makes her feel like the most important person in the world, the days that make her believe it's all worth it, every little smidge of pain he has ever caused her. She tries to make herself believe that one day, when all traces of Red John have vanished from their lives, there will be a time when _every_ day is a good day. She makes herself believe it; she has to in order to go on. All the members of the team find ways to deal with the hardships of their working lives: Cho has a mind that allows him to shut off and leave his work at work; since the birth of Benjamin, Rigsby seems to want to make the world a better place for the sake of the innocence of his son, and Grace is blessed with an optimism that in the end, goodness will prevail. Despite their closeness, Teresa is not wholly sure as to how Jane deals with it; she's not willing to admit it's solely a desire for vengeance, but she's not sure what else it could be. She doesn't think it's her.

Stretching out, Teresa looks again at the time. All these thoughts, and it's not even half past six. She's not sure just what she wants to do with the rest of her free evening, but she knows she doesn't want to spend her time dwelling on her darkest thoughts. Sitting up, she collects her novel from the floor and tosses it on to the coffee table. Standing up, she stretches again, unpinning her hair and letting it fall down loosely, past her shoulders. All this thinking makes her _tired_. Maybe a slow walk in that evening sunshine would be the best for her, the best way to relax and empty her mind from her previous train of thought. Her mind made up, Teresa is moving across the room as she hears her phone buzz. _Please no_, she thinks, _not tonight_. Dreading the thought of having to drag together her team for a crime scene after promising them an evening off, Teresa moves towards her phone and looks at the display. _Jane_.

"_Hello?_"

"_Lisbon! Jane here. It's such a beautiful evening, and I was thinking of taking a walk._ "

"_Oh?_"

"_Yes, and I just thought it'd be so much nicer with two. If you've nothing else planned, I'd love if you could join me?_"

Teresa closes her eyes. She doesn't know how he does it.

"_That sounds lovely, Jane._"

_"Fabulous, Lisbon. I'll be over to yours in twenty minutes. I might even have strawberries!_"

"_Great, Jane. See you soon._"

She hears him hang up. It sounds like this is going to be one of the good times; him giving her just enough attention to keep her wanting more, and just little enough to keep them on the line they so often dance around. But as she said, this was going to be one of the good times, and that was already enough for her. She cares so much for him, that try as she might, she can't bring herself to ruin this, she'll take what she can get and be glad. It occurs to her that maybe she is too harsh on Jane. Just as she has many thoughts on the shared aspects of their lives, maybe Jane does too, and that gives her hope, although it does little to stop the hurt she feels. In lives as complicated as theirs, Teresa truly knows only one side of the story: hers, but she knows too that Jane's version is as complicated and confusing as the one she lives, and she knows as well that she's well on the way to learning his side too.

Bringing herself back to reality, Teresa realises that Jane will be here soon. Suddenly her work clothes have become stifling and oppressive for an evening walk with her dearest friend, so she decides to change. She swaps her work trousers for some dark jeans, and her blazer for a cardigan to go over her white blouse, and is in the process of fluffing her curls when the doorbell rings. Stealing a last glance in the mirror, she is adequately satisfied with what she sees. Jogging down the stairs, Teresa attempts to remove every doubtful, dark thought that has been dredging through her mind for the last hour or so. Jane claims she is transparent, that he knows her every thought, but there are times Teresa is convinced he couldn't possibly know the things she so often dwells on. He has no idea, and, as for now, she doesn't feel she has the right to voice these thoughts to him. She'd love to have the right, but she doesn't. Not yet.

Crossing the room to the front door, Teresa pauses, head bowed, with her left hand on the door. Jane has enough dark thoughts of his own and she is not selfish enough to add her thoughts and worries in to his crucible of a mind. Time to put her own personalised poker face on, the face of the calm, cool, collected agent they all know and love. Teresa Lisbon: reliable, solid, unshakable, infallible.

She fixes her smile in place as she throws opens the door.

"_Hey, Jane_."


End file.
